Mephistopheles
by Super Cheyenne
Summary: -"I will make you one offer, Bakura. If you truly wish me to return your soul, you will give me all the things within your possession that you have stolen, and I will wipe it—and you—from the memory of man." Slight YYxYB Darkshipping.


Cheyenne: And once again I have discovered a song that has me listening to it over and over! A universal solution to this? Write a one-shot songfic (kind of songfic), of course! I mean, what else am I good for, besides pissing my classmates off ARGH I FEEL GUILTY *crying inside*

Disclaimer: I own it all, bitchez! I amassed billions of dollars and bought the whole damn corporation! Bow before me!

Pairing: Darkshipping (YYxYB)

Song: Mephistopheles by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

**Edit: **Error resolved.

--

He never thought the darkness could be so cold; so unforgiving. Yet, in the end, wasn't that all darkness really was? An endless void filled with the despair of a billion souls; tumbling, turning, screaming for forgiveness that would never come. Darkness never forgave, and it never felt warmth; it was too ambitious, too hungry.

Hunger... The man knew darkness craved. It craved souls, it craved pain, yet it also craved retribution; its vengeance upon the world that wronged it. Darkness never relied on anyone to get what it wanted. darkness reached out, greedy, grabbing all it could.

Forever cold. Forever wandering. Yet always there. Wherever there was light, there was darkness, and the only pure soul was that of a newborn child, just opening its eyes to see the light of the world... and the darkness that always lurked behind it, waiting for a chance to steal this innocent child's soul for itself. It's own piece of light. Of purity. Maybe that was all darkness wanted. A little piece of light for itself.

Maybe that was all he had wanted.

But darkness is darkness; the opposite of light—often used and described as the embodiment of evil. Or perhaps evil is the embodiment of darkness. It makes deals with mortals; promising them things beyond their wildest dreams in exchange for one very simple thing: their souls. The souls that the darkness corrupts, twisting them around until the light is gone, leaving it forced to find another.

And so darkness waited, and waited, and waited, abiding for its own piece of purity.

Its own piece of forever.

--

_Mephistopheles._

That was the first thing that entered the young man's mind as the figure made itself known, suffocating all the light in the room until all that remained were two solitary candles, desperately trying to restore warmth and a feeling of protection to the suddenly frosty room.

"Why are you here?" A narrowing of previously surprised eyes and a stiffening of posture caused the cloaked figure to look up, revealing a deep pair of demon eyes set in a pleasing tanned face, almost glowing in the gloom. Of course, the man didn't mind darkness. Solitude, comfort... these were things the darkness had offered; a faithful companionship and things beyond his mortal comprehension. Things he had accepted.

And now it was coming to collect.

"I think you know very well who I am, Bakura."

Yes. Yes, he knew who this was. The young man tilted his chin up, eyes narrowing as he placed one hand on the edge of his cloth-covered piano. The tattered curtains overhanging the now-open window breezed in the escalating wind from outside.

"Mephistopheles."

The figure merely nodded, watching him with a perfectly deadpan expression. Darkness was used to waiting, and had acquired many names over the centuries. Mephistopheles was merely one; a demon, really, spawned from a mortal tale. And yet, the humans learned nothing from Faust, no matter how many times they heard the tale.

The figure said nothing, his crimson eyes watching the young man as he paced the room.

"You can't have me," the white-haired other said at last. "It is not yet my turn; I need more time!" The man grit his teeth as the darkness sighed, shaking his head full of wild, tri-colored hair: blonde bangs and streaks shooting up into a base of the purest black, tipped with the same bloody crimson as his eyes.

Those eyes. Unnatural.

"You made an agreement, Bakura." The figure said, but he still didn't move. Bakura growled, throwing something against the wall. Still the man showed no signs of even the slightest hint of worry or fright; he didn't even seem to care that the knife had missed his head by a mere few centimetres.

Darkness could not be killed, for in a way, he was Death. And yet, at the same time, he was not. He made deals with mortals; it was merely his job to collect those who had entered the covenant. He left those who did not alone.

Bakura smirked, shaking his head full of white hair, his brown eyes—so dark they were nearly the color of an obsidian stone—laughing at the darkness with mirth.

"And what makes you think I had any intention of carrying out my end of the bargain?"

"There is no null and void here."

"Well then I guess it sucks to be you. You cannot kill me, Yami." The darkness looked undeterred by this new name.

"Killing, Bakura? Who said anything about killing?" Suddenly a rush of cold air penetrated the room. The cloth flew off Bakura's piano, yet nothing was smashed or damaged. The curtains in the window blew with a ferocity that startled Bakura, though he didn't show it, instead staring at Yami, even as the keys of his instrument started to play by themselves. The other man's cloak begun to swirl around his feet, joining his hair in an almost demonic fashion.

Really, the darkness was a beautiful sight; an ethereal being, swathed in his own element—deadly, dangerous, stunning.  
But that wasn't anything compared to his voice.

_"All of your life now  
You have denied  
There'd be a time  
When you'd ever die  
Still it's been rumoured this thing must be._

_  
Why is it then that you act surprised  
When I appear now to be your guide?  
Why do you hesitate to follow me?"_

Bakura took an involuntary step back as the crimson eyes of Mephistopheles flashed angrily. He was aware of another instrument—perhaps a guitar?—joining his piano. He clenched his fists, refusing to give anymore ground as Mephistopheles—Yami—walked up to him, lightly trailing a hand down his cheek before smirking as the music swirled and escalated.

_"See it rising  
Stare and wonder  
Hear it beckon  
You to dance!"_ Yami lightly reached out one hand, which Bakura stared at. The darkness merely smirked again, withdrawing it and laughing before continuing, the music picking up once more as he stepped behind Bakura and wrapped his arms around the other from behind.

_"Feel it hold you  
Take you under  
I'm your God of Second Chance!" _

Bakura shuddered as the powerful voice ripped through the room, and he had to keep himself from mewling at the loss of contact. He desired the darkness; he craved it. His eyes flashed hungrily as Yami glided across the room, movements almost catlike in their grace. For a moment, Yami turned back to look at him, crimson eyes grasping and holding Bakura's own for a few seconds.

_"And now you claim you are not prepared  
So much to do you cannot be spared  
Still your entreaties Death will not hear!" _  
Bakura's eyes narrowed at that, his fists once more clenching at his sides as he took a step towards the darkness, who merely sent him a sultry look and waved his hand to the open window. Bakura growled as a light mist enveloped him, revealing an eerie cemetery like those found in a classic horror novel. Beside him stood Mephistopheles, who slowly moved towards one of the headstones, lightly trailing his hand down the damp marker. The name on the grave was illegible, but it did not matter.

_"The graveyard is filled with important men  
Who could not be spared but were in the  
End."_

Bakura felt another shiver make its way down his spine as Yami stepped towards him again, lightly reaching up so his breath tickled the albino's ears.

_"And so I whisper now in your ear."_ A laugh as Yami stepped away, movements mesmerizing as he raised his hands to the dark sky, his voice calling out to the heavens he surely must have been cast from.

_"See it rising  
Stare and wonder  
Hear it beckon  
You to dance!" _This time, when the darkness held out his hand, Bakura took it, pulling the shorter man towards him and whirling him around, this time with a smirk to match Yami's. His arms wrapped around the other's lithe waist, which could be felt even underneath the long black cloak he wore. As he twirled the other, he caught glances of finely toned muscles and a pleasing, slender frame.

_"Feel it hold you  
Take you under  
I'm your God of Second Chance!"_

Bakura hummed as he held the other man. _Yes..._ my _God_.  
In the distance, a small chorus had worked up, joined by Mephistopheles' steady chanting as the echo of "second chance" faded. Slowly, these chorale voices emerged from the shadows. Spirits.

_"Domine  
Domine  
Domine  
Domine..."_ Here Yami dropped the chant, letting the voices in the distance take over as the mist swirled around the two again, Bakura holding onto the darkness possessively as Yami merely stood still, lightly leaning back into the embrace from behind.

_"O Domine  
O Domine  
O Domine  
O Domine…" _

The chorus suddenly stopped, and Bakura found himself back in his room, with its lavish rugs and bookcases; the piano playing a steady melody in the center of the room. He watched Mephistopheles as the man slowly extended his hand, making the melody slower, more transfixing.

"I will make you one offer, Bakura. If you truly wish me to return your soul, you will give me all the things within your possession that you have stolen, and I will wipe it—and you—from the memory of man." Bakura stared at Yami, snarling lowly. An eternity of damnation... but at the cost of losing all he had accomplished? All the things he had managed to do? Would his pride really allow that?

"Why can't you just give me my soul?"

The only response he got was an irritating smirk.

"Because, Bakura, nothing in life is easy. You have to earn it. And sometimes in life you have to make a difficult choice, and suffer the repercussions from it. For there must always be a consequence; a reward or a punishment," Bakura stood stock-still as the music continued to play in the background. Yami tilted his head to the side, managing to make even that small little movement seem languid and effortless. "You made your choice all those years ago, Bakura. Now tell me... what will you choose this time?" When there was no response, Mephistopheles sighed. "I will give you one hour to decide, Bakura."

Bakura growled again. An hour to make such a heavy decision? He turned to the clock, suddenly noticing that the hands were moving faster than usual. When he pointed this out to Yami, the darkness merely smirked.

"Consider it a final favour, because where you're going, they never turn at all." Bakura looked away from Yami to glance at the clock again before turning back.

He was gone, leaving Bakura alone. And as the man agonized over his decision, the spirits cautiously re-emerged from the shadows in his own room.

--

Darkness is greedy; darkness is cold. It is calm, calculating...

And it always, _always_ gets what it wants.


End file.
